Burnout: Acceleracers 5
by Sepulchrave Groan
Summary: An (eventual) resolution to one of the cruelest cliff-hangers I've ever encountered.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I will try to stick as closely to the plot threads already set out by the original Acceleracers series; however, I cannot promise I won't create a few minor plot holes. I'll try my best!**

**I own neither the premise, nor the characters of Hot Wheels Acceleracers. I'm just trying to cope with the cruelest cliff-hanger I've ever encountered in the best way I can.**

The first rays of the morning sun slowly filtered through the towering hoodoos of the Arizona desert. Fine dust carried by the light breeze swirled around the bases of the formations and a loud, indignant squawk from a desert bird shattered the quiet of the dawn like brittle clay. Only a few minutes ago, the buzzard had been rudely awoken by the roar of engines and the screech of tires as ten cars had skidded to a halt beneath him. The creature, perched in a nest atop one of the hoodoos, ruffled its feathers crossly and peered down into the narrow canyon beneath its roost where several figures were now conversing loudly in a circle. The noise rose and fell sharply as the humans argued amongst themselves. One man, much older than the others and clad in a full body metal brace, seemed to be in charge, though none of the other drivers took any notice of his authority. If anything, most of the younger humans were pointedly ignoring him.

"What are well all just standing around here for?" yelled an olive skinned youth in a slight Spanish accent. "We have a Teku out there somewhere that we need to find!"

"Vert is _gone_, Nolo," the older man emphatically explained to him. "He was made an Acceleracer. Our goal must be to return to the realms and join him!"

"But Doctor Tezla," interjected a petite young woman dressed in grease stained overalls. "Vert was back in the Acceledrome when we lost contact with him. If he went through the portal before Gig destroyed the place, who knows where he could have ended up?"

"Where else could he be but back with the Accelerons?" The only other woman in the groups spoke up jealously. Her hair was pulled tightly back from her sharp face and her blue eyes glinted in the dawn. "There was no reason for him to return to earth now that they've marked him as their equal. Vert would have to be crazy to turn down their offer; If it were me I'd have gone with them in a heartbeat."

"We all know what _you'd_ decide," muttered a large man with huge muscles that rippled beneath a jagged black tattoo reaching from his right wrist all the way to the base of his neck. His left arm was a gruesome sight to behold. Where shoulder should have met bicep, there was a grotesque metal appendage instead. The woman to last speak shot him a cold glare but didn't bother to respond.

"If Vert was heading through the portal when no realms were open, it's possible that he was intercepted and ended up in the wrong headquarters," calmly said a square jawed Japanese man sporting a short black ponytail.

"Drones?" a voice asked nervously. Apprehension was evident in the tone of a fidgeting redheaded driver who had neither the melon like muscles of half the group, nor the cool confidence and style of the others.

"Drones... or Silencerz," replied another large man with black hair and dark skin. His right shoulder was branded with a large stylized M.

A burly man with long orange hair and a bone slung around his neck on a chain like jewelry interjected. "I don't like them Silencerz," he grunted. "They went and disintegrated my motorcyc- WILL YOU TURN THAT GARBAGE DOWN!" He interrupted himself to roar at a much smaller Japanese driver who was completely absorbed in the techno music that was blasting out of his earphones. The music fiend was completely unfazed by the rebuke and continued to bob his head with the pounding rhythm.

"So what are we going to do now?" The question was voiced by a man with short spiky hair and a very cool, almost disinterested expression on his face. The only indication that he was paying attention to the conversation was that his sharp eyes were focused suspiciously on Doctor Tezla behind orange tinted glasses.

Immediately an exuberant cacophony of shouts rose from the group:

"Let's go find Vert!"

"We gotta crush the rest of them Drones!"

"There's no point in doing this anymore if we've completed all of the realms." The last opinion came from the sharp faced woman who had wished to join the Accelerons.

The man with the ponytail, stunned, turned to the woman beside him. "Is that what you think, Karma? You're giving up on finding Vert?"

Karma crossed her arms and stared defiantly back at him. "Taro, Vert is an Acceleracer now. How do you know he even _wants_ to come back? We're finished all the realms now. I've _perfected_ my driving skills in every one of them. There is nothing for us here anymore."

Nolo spoke again, a tone of betrayal is his voice. "But Karma... Vert's a Teku. He's one of us. We're a _family_. We can't just leave him!"

"Why don't any of you guys get it?" Karma said, exasperated. "Silencerz, Drones, what do they all matter anymore? Vert is with the Accelerons! The only way you are ever going to find him is by proving yourselves to be perfect drivers! If we can prove to the world we're the best, that we're _perfect_, then they will make us Acceleracers too. It's time they realize that we deserve this honour!"

"Hey!" interjected Nolo angrily. "If you're not one hundred percent committed to Vert and the Teku, maybe you should just leave!"

Karma glared back at her leader and thrust her chin forward. "Fine," she said icily. She turned to Taro and put at hand on his forearm. "Come with me," she encouraged. "We've got the best cars in the world. We're the best drivers there have ever been! It's _our_ turn to be Acceleracers!"

Taro sadly shook his head and removed her hand from his arm. "Vert's always been there for me. Now it's my turn."

"Kurt?" pleaded Karma to the man in the orange sunglasses.

"Sorry Karma," Kurt answered. "If you're leaving, good luck, but I can't abandon Vert."

"He's gone!" she almost screamed at the group. "The only thing that's important now is becoming an Acceleracer!"

Taro spoke: "Finding Vert is more important than racing now."

"More important than racing, or more important than me?" When Taro didn't answer her, Karma's eyes darkened. "Fine," she whispered murderously. Karma spun on her heel and without a backward glance, marched to her car and screeched away into the distance.

The remaining drivers watched the cloud of dust kicked up by her wheels as their former teammate faded and was lost beyond the horizon. No one spoke until the echoes of her engine had stopped reverberating off the hoodoo walls. It seemed as if the whole group had deflated somewhat at Karma's departure. Nolo was still fuming and kicked viscously at a rock nearby. Taro had crossed his arms and was refusing to meet anyone's eyes. The rest of the company could do nothing but stand awkwardly by, trying to think of something to say to break the stifling silence.

Eventually, Doctor Tezla came to their rescue. He nodded slowly. "Alright. We need a place to go and set up our new base of operations," he said, deliberately avoiding mention of what had just transpired.

"Why don't we go to one of the old World Race headquarters?" suggested the only remaining female. "They have more than enough garage space, beds, and the computers should still be intact."

"All right! Great idea Lani!" The small redheaded driver glowed scarlet as the others snickered at his overenthusiastic outburst.

"Um... thanks Monkey," said Lani uncomfortably, studying the scuffmark on her shoe which has suddenly become extremely interesting.

"So... where is this World Race HQ?" Tork asked.

"The nearest one is about a five hour drive northwest of here," replied Tezla, walking gingerly to the Silencerz car in which Lani had driven the pair of them out of the Acceledrome. "There's a small city a short drive away so I'll need a couple of drivers to go into town and by some supplies. We'll be needing a large amount of food. Diesel and Kurt, you can meet us there when you've gotten everything we need. Try not to be too conspicuous about it. The rest of you, follow me."

"My name ain't Diesel, it's Porkchop," grumbled the man with the bone necklace as the rest of the drivers began clambering back into their vehicles.

Lani walked over to Battle Spec and carefully seated herself amongst the remnants of the recently torn out speakers, calling to doctor Tezla that she would ride with Kurt into town so she could restock the infirmary. For the second time that day the buzzard was startled out of its sleep by roaring engines and wheels spinning furiously as the vehicles drove off.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello there! It's been a really long time since I have updated, and I apologize. I think I'm a bit of a commitmentphobe- I began my first story not realizing how much effort all this really takes, and I want it to be good (both for my own satisfaction and for whomever reads this). However, I've planned out the rest of my plot to my satisfaction (I think) so I'll try my best to update. I hope people are still into reading this after my unreasonably long hiatus. Please tell me what you think so far. I also admit that the plot is rather slow going- I wanted to sort of give characters room to breathe and delve into their thoughts, but rest assured, it will eventually get somewhere. Apologies for any grammatical/continuity errors.**

The drivers rumbled across the dry, cracked ground toward their new base camp. Their combined cars kicked so much dust into the air that they were forced to ride abreast of each other so as to be able to see. Monkey leaned forward in the driver's seat, grasping at the back of his shirt and peeling it away from his moist body. He sighed resignedly as the material resettled onto his back and wiped the sweat from his eyes with a grimy sleeve. The hulking sweeper he and Porkchop had confiscated from the Drones was stylish and fast, but undeniably uncomfortable. He supposed the Drones hadn't seen the need for air conditioning, but the sun beating down on their black vehicle was becoming nearly unbearable. By the time the sun had been over the horizon for an hour, Monkey had already heavily considered breaking one of the windows, but had eventually decided to tough it out, rather than have to deal with a swirling dust cloud. Monkey glanced over at the on-board radio, where he could hear the other drivers' muffled voices. Sighing again, he flipped off the radio and gazed out of the green tinted window across the vast expanse of nothingness, failing to sight any sign of the old World Race headquarters.

Although the drive had been uneventful, Monkey could not help but feel as anxious as he had all that night. He shifted restlessly and tried to prevent his mind from wandering, but as he usually did, he eventually found his thoughts on how he'd most recently disappointed his teammates. Monkey wasn't a particularly bold guy, he'd come to accept that about himself. Even when he was young, Monkey was never the sort to jump first into anything new or dangerous- his little sister has always teased him about his reluctance to climb the trees in their backyard, ignoring his protests that the branches had shivered far more under his weight than her own. She'd been the one to sarcastically dub him "Monkey," for his lack of climbing prowess, her brown eyes glimmering with cheek. In school he'd never been comfortable raising his hand in class, even though he'd frequently known the answer to the questions. Calling attention to himself in front of a group, even positive attention, had never been something he was good at. It was strange really, since his mother and father had always been as supportive and encouraging as parents should be. Still, it wasn't until he got his first job out of high school working as an assistant in his cousin's repair shop halfway across the country, had he felt truly relaxed. He'd sort of found himself in that shop, tinkering with the cars, living a quiet existence. He'd liked the solitude, or, at least he'd felt more at ease in amongst the machinery than he'd had with people. If Monkey handn't been happy, he'd at least been content to make that his life.

Of course, that simple life had only lasted for four years or so when it was abruptly halted, then completely overturned by the behemoth of a man who was now his best friend. Monkey could remember, almost as clearly as he could remember the events of the past night, that frigid December afternoon when Porkchop had come rolling into the shop on his way back from a disastrous street race. He'd mangled his car so badly that Monkey, having managed to get it off Old Smoky, wasn't at all sure that he'd be able to get it running again, much less in race condition. But the shop was on it's last financial leg, even after his cousin had sold his house to pay off his debt, and they couldn't afford to turn down any job, even one as hopeless as Porkchop's. So Monkey and Porkchop had pushed his car into the garage and he had promised to do all he could. Over the next few days, Monkey began to find himself obsessed with the job. He'd never seen such a beautiful piece of machinery, (though, to be fair, most cars the garage got to work on weren't exactly top of the line) and just touching it, fixing it, became something of a joy to him. As he worked on Porkchop's vehicle, he grew more and more invested in repairing it. Often, his cousin's wife would have to bring him dinner on a tray because he'd forget to come in when she called. At night, Monkey would close his eyes and see the car's engine suspended in his mind, and he'd spend hours thinking about it and just planning out his next step. By the end of the month, Monkey had restored the car to its former glory, and Porkchop had been so impressed with his work that he'd taken Monkey to the very next Metal Maniac race to meet the team. Back then, the Maniacs numbers had been dwindling dangerously (both Taro and Wylde had yet to join) and so Tork, after inspecting Monkey's work, and his considerably impressive driving, had offered him a spot on the team as their mechanic. Years later, Monkey still couldn't have explained exactly what it was that made him say yes. He'd never really had good friends before in his life, but something about the approval of those two guys, that they had seen _something_ glimmering in Monkey that he'd never really noticed himself, stirred the sense of adventure that had been buried and asleep in him for his entire life. Monkey had gotten his "M" tattoo the next morning.

The next few years had been an utter rollercoaster, but Monkey had adapted far better than even he could've imagined to the turbulent life of a Metal Maniac. He hadn't been made to race all that often, especially since Wylde and Taro (both more aggressive racers) had joined the team and numbers had ceased being an issue. Porkchop and he had bonded in a way Monkey had longed to with his sister ever since she had outgrown him years ago, and Monkey would have been lying if he were to have said he didn't feel at his happiest when he sent his teammates out in the best vehicles his team had ever raced. Still though, every time he had finished his final tune up or drunkenly celebrated a Maniac victory, a tiny nagging sense of disappointment had always pulled at him. No matter how satisfied he was with his job or how vital he know it to be, Monkey had never been able to totally ignore how... second best he felt. He felt it every time he was the last Maniac to finish a realm, he felt it every time Tezla didn't call his name to go into a race, and he felt it every time Lani looked past him to wherever Nolo was standing. He'd always just known he was missing something important, something in him that would make him stand up and demand to be sent into a realm, stand up and make Lani take notice of him. But Monkey had hoped that whatever it was, he would be able to find it when the time really came and his teammates needed him to dive headfirst into danger. But he hadn't. Wylde had been captured by the Drones and while he was being ripped apart and disassembled, Monkey hadn't jumped to be first to volunteer for the rescue mission, or immediately offered up his knowledge of the sweeper interiors. He'd sat in the meeting silently, until all of his teammates had committed. Monkey couldn't pretend any longer. When the time had come to prove to everyone and himself that he would come through for them, he'd frozen. And he'd failed everyone.

Monkey somehow felt both raw and numb at the same time as he thought about everything. The back of his throat grew tight and prickly and he rubbed frustratedly at his reddening face, even though there was no one to notice it. He felt his fists clench and he fought his urge to punch something. He wasn't special, he wasn't brave, he didn't deserve to be a Maniac. All the drivers needed teammates they could rely on, no matter the risks. And Mitchell "Monkey" McClurg was just not good enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Chapter 3! Hope you like it so far. Let me know!**

Dr. Tezla squinted through the cloud of dust at the horizon. He wiped his glasses with gloved fingertips and adjusted his visor. Though it was still a good half hour's drive away, he could see the old World Race headquarters looming in the distance, the sun shining on its sleek walls. He reached over to the console and flicked his radio on. The voices of the other drivers floated out of the speakers.

"I dunno, he fell pretty far... I don't think anyone coulda survived that," Mark Wylde was saying gruffly. He cleared his throat loudly to hide the sadness in his voice.

"Yeah, but if his body was mostly made of Drone, he might still be alive," countered Nolo. "Those Drones can take a pounding- you didn't see his body did you?"

"Nah, we didn't see him land either."

"Then it's possible Kadeem's alive," said Tork. "I hate to say it though, but even if he is alive, if he's as brainwashed as Wylde and Kurt said, there probably isn't much we can do for him. At least not right now."

Nolo's interjected. "Yeah we gotta find Vert first- we can worry about Kadeem later."

"The thing I'm worried about," Tork said, "is if Kadeem is alive, would that make him the new Drones' leader? It's hard to believe robots that advanced wouldn't have some kind of plan B in case Gelorum got killed. What do you think Taro?"

There was a long, cracking silence as the drivers all waited for Taro to speak. As far as Tezla knew, he hadn't said a word since Karma had left the group. Finally, his voice flowed through the speaker, cool and dispassionate.

"I think we're almost there," he said, and flicked off his radio.

The drivers, Dr. Tezla in the lead, cruised into the giant black cube that would be their new base of operations. The heavy steel door noisily slid back into place, grinding on tracks heavily worn by the dust and sand. Rows of lights flickered on along the ceiling, a few of which were burned out. Across the huge garage were a pair of black metal doors, one leading to the dormitories, showers, and kitchen, the other to the control room. Dr. Tezla shouldered open his door and stepped onto the dust-covered floor.

"Welcome to our new headquarters, the AcceleCube," he said to the drivers, who were all clambering out of their vehicles. "We will be staying here until such time as we have located Vert and I have discovered what the Accelerons wish us to do next."

"What do you mean what they want us to do next?" said Monkey nervously. "I thought Vert completed their Ultimate Race. They made him an Acceleracer- what more do they expect us to do?"

"I don't know what their plan for us is," replied Dr. Tezla, rather annoyed. "But the Accelerons gave Vert another wheel, probably to be used in conjunction with the Wheel of Power. I can use the footage I have from Vert's onboard camera to decipher and render another hologram, which I will then integrate with the one I have of the Wheel of Power. Hopefully then, we'll be able to complete the Accelerons' next set of trials."

"Woah woah woah!" Nolo interrupted, furiously brushing the hair away from his face. Behind him Dr. Tezla could see the other drivers folding their arms and muttering darkly to each other. "We ain't doing nothing until we get Vert back!" He spread his arms in mock amazement and turned to the others. "Or was finding Vert just something Tezla told us to get us to race some more, eh?"

Mark prodded Dr. Tezla's chest with his enhanced Drone arm, nearly overbalancing him. "We ain't your dancing puppets, Tezla. You're going to help us find Vert, or else."

Dr. Tezla swallowed as he gingerly removed Mark's arm from him. Struggling to keep an even voice, he replied: "Yes yes, of course Vert is the first priority. But as he went through the portal with that wheel before the Acceledrome was destroyed, I believe it more than likely he was transported to the Accelerons' next set of tests. We have the greatest chance of finding him if I am able to decipher what those symbols on the wheel mean."

Nolo glared at him. "I dunno," he said. "Sounds a lot like you're more interested in the Accelerons than finding your own champion driver."

"Don't you see?!" Tezla said gruffly. "Vert's wheel is the only clue we have to his whereabouts! Standing around talking like this is a waste of time. If you'd rather go drive around aimlessly in the desert looking for Vert, then be my guest. But I can't see a better plan then the one I've come up with, can any of you?"

The drivers scrutinized him suspiciously, but Taro finally relented.

"Fine," he said. "We do it your way." And with that, he squared his shoulders and walked briskly across the garage and though the door to the dormitories. The rest of the drivers looked at each other unconvinced, but after a moment, followed suit.

But as Nolo passed Dr. Tezla, he clutched the older man's upper arm firmly. Leaning in close enough for Dr. Tezla to see the whites of his eyes, Nolo said in a quiet, but menacing tone:

"We'll do it your way for now, old man. But we're watching you. Don't give us a reason to believe you're lying to us. Vert comes first. Don't forget that."

Behind Nolo, Tork folded his arms and nodded in agreement.

Dr. Tezla turned away from the pair and began making his way to the control room. When he reached the door, he called over his shoulder airily and without turning back to look at them: "When Lani returns, send her to me; I'll need her help deciphering the wheel."

He exited the garage and the door clanged shut behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'm having a bit of trouble figuring out how to pluralize/ write in plural-possessive form for the word "Silencerz" so hopefully you can all understand what it is I mean. Please let me know what you think of my story if you have the time because reviews, even criticisms, really help with keeping my stamina up and help me keep going. Once again, please excuse my grammar. Hope you like it and are having a good day.**

"Son," said Major Wheeler, removing his purple Silencerz helmet, his stern face unreadable. "We need to talk."

Vert felt his stomach flip over as he recognized his father. His throat and lungs suddenly felt constricted as his breath rushed out of them, leaving what felt like a cavern in his chest. His legs seemed to no longer be able to support him, and Vert instinctively grasped the back of the chair he'd just been sitting on for support. Two matching sets of blue eyes stared at each other and, in that moment, it was as though the world had gone silent with disbelief.

"Dad?" he said, hearing his own voice muffled and distant, as if he were speaking through a thick mist. "Dad, what's going on?"

Vert's father took a step toward him, his hand reaching to grasp his son's shoulder.

"Vert, I know this must be quite a shock for you," he said carefully. "I realize you weren't expecting-"

Vert blinked as his father's fingers closed around his arm. Air rushed back into his lungs and he felt his face heating as his blood began to simmer.

"A shock?" he interrupted. "A _shock?_ Dad! What the hell is going on?!" Vert furiously knocked his father's arm away from him and looked wildly around at the group of Silencerz that were standing behind Major Wheeler. "You're working with the Silencerz?"

"Son, this isn't what you think," his father hastily replied, his arm still half outstretched. "Let me explain-"

"_Explain?_" shouted Vert, barely able to control himself. "What the hell is there to explain? _You're working for the Silencerz!_ You guys could have gotten me and my team killed in the realms! Don't you realize what's at stake here with the Drones and the Accelerons?"

"Of course we do," his father replied curtly. "We understand better than any of you. Do not take that tone with me, son. You and your team are putting everything we've worked for in jeopardy."

"Everything _you've_ worked for?" Vert exclaimed incredulously. "My team and I have been out there since day one trying to stop Gelorum from killing us all! And you've been sabotaging us! Some of us almost didn't make it out of the realms because of you! What, were you just gonna leave them in there to die?! You-"

His father didn't give him a chance to finish. "Vert, you and your team have no idea what you're doing!" he snapped. "You're just blindly following whatever Tezla tells you. Did you ever consider that maybe he's just as clueless as all of you?" He took his son firmly by both shoulders, holding him in place while Vert fumed. "I will explain everything to you if you'll just listen to me."

Vert narrowed his eyes and jerked himself away from his father. Crossing his arms, he said angrily through clenched teeth: "Fine. What. The. Hell Is. Going. On?"

Major Wheeler sighed tiredly, rubbing his temple. He looked somehow older than he had when Vert had last seen him, even though it had really only been a few months. The creases around the corner of his eyes and mouth had deepened, and his face appeared pale and sickly beneath the florescent lights of the Silencerz headquarters. It was strange to see his father looking so worn. Even when his wife, Vert's mother, had died all those years ago, he'd managed to keep himself together. But now, Vert could see he was beginning to show his age.

"Son, before I tell you anything," he began. "I want you to know that what we're doing-"

The three Silencerz standing closest to Major Wheeler suddenly grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, sharply cutting him off. They cruelly twisted his arm until he was forced to drop to his knees and gaze up at them.

"Dad!" exclaimed Vert, starting forward. "What are you doing? Hey! Let go of him!" Two more Silencerz quickly stepped between Vert and his father, blocking his way. Vert fought to get to his father, taking a wild swing at the Silencer's unprotected throat, but it was no use. The Silencerz shoved Vert backward, slamming his body against the white wall, and stunning him momentarily. Through the fog that was invading his brain, Vert could hear his father's cries of distress, demanding the Silencerz not harm his son. One of the Silencerz holding Vert's father grabbed his blond head, forcibly tilting it to stare into the Silencer's helmeted face. Vert could see his father's reflection in the shiny mask but, no matter how he tried, was unable to break free of Silencerz's grasps.

Major Wheeler glared rebelliously at the Silencer. He thrust his chin forward. "How dare you defy my authority? You are under my command! Let me stand, that's an _order."_

The Silencer said nothing.

"He has to know," Major Wheeler snarled. "He's my son, we're not locking him up."

The Silencer jerked his head again sharply, eliciting a pained gasp, and leaned in so closely that Major Wheeler's breath made tiny puffs of condensation on the helmet's surface. Vert couldn't see the look that was exchanged between his father and the Silencer, but after what seemed like an eternity, his father's shoulders slumped in defeat and he nodded.

Immediately, the two standing in front of Vert yanked his arms backward and began bodily shoving him toward the steel double doors at the far side of the lofty garage.

"Hey! Let go of me!" Vert bellowed, struggling furiously, as two more Silerncerz rushed to help subdue him. "Dad! Help me!"

"There's no point resisting, Vert," said Vert's father wearily, still on his knees. "It's for your own good." He slowly got to his feet and by the time he'd turned around to look at his son, his expression was again, emotionless and unreadable.

"Dad! No!" Vert screamed as he was dragged away, through the doors, and out of the garage. _"Tell me what's going on!"_

Vert's eyes were burning and his head spun with confusion and fury. Through the haze of his tears, Vert locked gaze with his father.

Cold blue eyes still on his son, Vert's father spoke dispassionately to the Silencerz who were struggling to control the violently writhing young man. "See to it that you do not hurt him too badly," he said, sliding his shiny purple helmet back into place and obscuring his face from view. "And put him with the other one."

"Dad, _please!"_ cried Vert in desperation. "Get off me! My team knows I'm missing. They're going to come for me! Please don't do this!"

Vert's father spoke, his voice distorted by his helmet and almost inhuman. "Your team has no idea where we are. They can look as much as they wish, but they will never find us. And if they knew what's best for them, they wouldn't come looking at all."

Vert could hear himself screaming for his father, but no one took heed. The last thing he saw before the double doors closed and the garage was lost from his view, was his own distraught face reflected in his father's opaque helmet. His shoulders stung as he was pulled down a long white corridor, passing numerous unmarked and windowless metal doors.

"Let go of me," Vert said mechanically, much of the fight having been beaten out of him. The Silencerz ignored his plea, not that he'd expected them them to release him. Instead, they only gripped him more tightly and quickened their pace so that Vert was stumbling along, hardly capable of maintaining his balance. His head had grown a sizable welt where it had been struck by the wall and his knees kept bucking, as though his body was shutting down completely. The empty cavity in his chest ached more now than it ever had. He shook his head and tried to memorize the hallway he was being led down, but it did no good. The doors to his left and right all looked the same; there were no landmarks he could use to orient himself. He quickly lost count. It seemed like they had been walking for hours- they passed door after door, the bright white corridors bore into his eyes so that even when he closed them, they appeared in his mind as plain as day. Finally, the Silencerz halted abruptly in front of another plain white door. Vert only had time to notice that this particular door had a small locked hatch at about chest height before one of the Silencerz had punched in a numerical code in a glowing keypad beside the handle, and he was unceremoniously pushed into the room beyond.

Vert turned to leap back out out of the entrance, but before he could barrel his way past his captors, the hefty door slammed shut and he heard the lock clunking into place. He pounded half-heartedly at the door, but as the retreating footsteps of the Silencerz died away, he knew there was no point.

His father, his own father was a Silencer. Vert had never felt so utterly desolate in is life. He wanted to scream, he wanted to hit something, he wanted to throw up, he wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. His father's icy stare burned his heart and Vert didn't think he'd ever forget that warped voice for as long as he lived.

After a long, shuddering moment, Vert turned to lean against the wall and blearily take stock of his surroundings. He was standing in another white, windowless room, barely larger than his living quarters back at the Acceledrome. There were a couple of uncomfortable looking cots spaced evenly throughout the cell, and a small table and three chairs were shoved against the wall beside him. A single bare light bulb was glimmering weakly, casting long and eerie shadows upon the walls. His head was only a few inches from brushing the low ceiling, making the whole room feel as though it were miles underground, though for all Vert knew, it could've been. In the far corner was another door that had been left ajar and through the gloom, he could tell that it lead to a tiny bathroom. But when Vert turned around, he found he didn't care about any of that. He barely realized that the light bulb was clearly in need of replacement, he hardly understood that he was being held prisoner in such an uncomfortable and dreary cell, even all thoughts of his father were temporarily chased from his mind. Because on the farthest bed, hair in disarray, pasty-skinned and gaunt of face, sat a man that Vert was sure he'd never see again in his life.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello there, I hope you like this chapter. I don't know about you all, but one of the reasons I enjoy this series of movies as much as I do is because it has really, ****_really_**** impressive characterization and character development. Far more than I would expect from a movie based on Hot Wheels, that's for freaking sure (also- why do you like these movies?). So this chapter is another character piece. Some important things I want to note about how I wrote this are:**

**a) There's a *little* swearing- I tried to keep it only to where I felt it necessary, but if you think it's inappropriate for the T rating, give me a shout. This is my first story so I'm not totally sure where the line is.**

**b) Whenever I write from a certain character's perspective, I try to call them/other characters in their internal thoughts by the name I think they'd call themselves; hence, Mark Wylde calls himself "Wylde," but Kurt calls him "Mark," while people from his Wave Rippers team (Vert and Lani) I think might still call him "Markie" in their heads.**

**_Please _****tell me what you think if you get a moment- it's just super helpful, motivationally-speaking. Enjoy!**

Mark Wylde clumsily dropped his empty glass down on the stained bar and rubbed his eyes. The nearest town to the AcceleCube was small and rather quaint, and the Metal Maniac had stumbled into its only dive bar. It wasn't a large place- some mismatched tables were dispersed between billiards and dartboards which a few patrons were playing, creating a gentle murmur that wafted around the room. Wylde sat alone at the bar, staring blankly into the dark liquor swirling in his glass. Though he was still over a year shy of being legally able to drink, Wylde's stint in prison had aged his looks considerably. His multitude of tattoos and hardened features often made people assume that he was the older of the Wylde brothers, and people rarely questioned him these days when he walked into a pub or bought a pack of smokes. He fingered the pack of cigarettes jammed in his pocket, but decided he'd rather drink than go outside for a drag. He made to lift his glass to his lips with his left hand, but was forced to put it awkwardly back down again as his new Drones arm was annoyingly cumbersome when it came to handling small, fragile objects. The point where it connected to his body was red and sore, and he had realized that it was probably infected, but hadn't felt like getting Lani to look at it again. Wylde gnashed his teeth and picked up his glass with his non-dominant right hand. The glare of the TV behind the bar was beginning to to give him a headache behind his eyes, and he rubbed at his forehead moodily as he downed the last of his drink in one swallow.

_Wylde cruised through the sleepy streets of town, scanning the shops for an electronics store. His new car, a model Tezla had kept in storage from the World Race, was in dire need of some Metal Maniac character. Deep blue with green accents, sleek, crisp lines- it was probably something the younger "Markie" would've drooled over. But it was far too... "Teku-y" for Wylde's taste now, and the sound system was utter garbage. He passed a squat, single level mall for the second time, and decided it was probably his best bet if he wanted to revamp his speakers today. He swung into a parking space beside an older woman in a powder pink sweater and a younger boy, probably her grandson, who were unloading their groceries into the back of their station wagon. Climbing out of his car, Wylde stretched and looked around for the closest mall entrance, appreciating the warmth of the sun on his face after having spent days in Gelorum's cold cell. He stretched his shoulders and began making his way between the two cars and out of the stall._

_"Gramma! What happened to that man's arm?" said a squeaky voice, rather louder than was necessary._

_Wylde turned around and met the wide brown eyes of the little boy who was pointing a tiny finger at his twisted metal arm. He blinked and looked down at his limb, almost surprised to see it there, glinting sharply in the sun._

_"Jordan!" hissed the boy's grandmother, yanking his little hand back to his side. "You mustn't point at people like that. It's extremely rude!"_

_"But why is his arm like that?" Jordan persisted, fidgeting with curiosity. "It's so weird! Does it hurt, mister?"_

_Wylde blinked again, unsure of what to say. No one at the AcceleCube had really mentioned his new Drone arm, though he supposed now that their avoidance had been intentional. He self-consciously crossed his arms, feeling uncomfortable under the child's gaze, and frowned._

_"Uh...-"_

_"Jordan what did I just say?" the woman snapped, spinning the boy around and pushing him inside their car. "We don't talk to people like that," she continued in a quieter tone while she buckled him into his booster seat, though Wylde could still hear her. "Especially people who look different than us or have disabilities like that. He's probably very sensitive about having no arm, and we don't want to make him feel badly about it, do we?"_

_"But Gramma! I just wanna know what happened to him!" he whined._

_"That's enough, Jordan! We'll talk about this later." The woman straightened up and turned back to Wylde, smoothing out her sweater. "I'm so sorry about my grandson," she began. "He's usually much more polite, but-"_

_"It's fine, whatever," Wylde muttered curtly, interrupting her. He abruptly spun around and walked quickly toward the mall entrance, suddenly wanting to escape from her and her grandson's big, questioning eyes._

_"I'm so sorry!" she called again after his retreating figure, ineffectually shaking her head._

_Wylde broke into a jog and didn't stop until he was inside the mall and out of sight._

He threw back a shot, and waved to the middle-aged bartender for another. The balding man frowned slightly at him, a bit concerned about whether it was wise to allow him to imbibe more, but he didn't argue and it was only a moment before Wylde was gripping a fifth drink in his good hand.

_"Hey," Wylde said to the plump woman at the entrance of the superstore near the far end of the mall. She raised her eyebrows in surprise at him, her eyes momentarily flicking down to his Drone arm, before returning to his face._

_"Hello dear," she said in an artificially casual voice, as though trying to make up for her obvious discomfort at his appearance. "Is there something I can help you find?"_

_"Uh, yeah," he answered. "Where do you keep your electronics?"_

_"Oh let me see..." she replied. "You'll want aisle... um... aisle... oh, silly me..."_

_Mark tried hard not to mind the way she nervously twisted the bottom of her red employee's vest and how her eyes drifted downward as she spoke so that she seemed to be talking to his arm. Glancing down at it himself, Wylde was instantly aware of how menacing he must look to her with his heavily muscled physique, bruised face, tattoo-covered right arm, and his mangled black appendage which bore Gelorum's shining green insignia. He shifted it in an awkward attempt to casually tuck it behind his back. The lady gasped, and jumping back slightly as he moved, as if she was afraid he might attack her._

_"Oh dear, I- I'm really not sure where we keep them," she stuttered, taking a small step back from Wylde and pasting on a huge grin that didn't reach her eyes. "If you'll just wait here, sir, I'll, um, I'll go and get my manager."_

_Wylde's stomach felt hollow. "It's fine, never mind" he said, sweeping by her. She shrank away from him as his Drones arm brushed her vest._

Wylde gulped down his seventh drink in two hours and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His vision was hazy and the rows of bottles lining the shelves behind the bar swam in front of his eyes. He could no longer make out the writing on their labels. His headache had gotten worse and was now pounding insistently at his temples. The place didn't have a kitchen so all he'd managed to eat in the past several hours was a dish of stale peanuts the bartender had offered him. He raised his hand and slurringly asked for another drink, but the bartender had clearly decided that Wylde had had quite enough for the night and gently pried the empty glass out of his hand.

"Okay kid, I know you're having a shit night, but I think you've had enough," he said in a firm, yet kind voice. "You got someone who can drive you home, right?"

It took Wylde a moment to comprehend what the bartender had said to him, but after a moment, he nodded. He could practically feel the alcohol sloshing around in his brain, and he had to concentrate extremely hard as he got up from his stool and swayed into the washroom.

Wylde haltingly opened the washroom door and stumbled back into the bar area. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone, flipping on the screen. Searching through his contacts, the intoxicated young man failed to notice the table of snickering guys (who had grown progressively more rowdy over the night) beside him as he made his way back to his seat. The guy closest to Wylde was a large, rather heavy-set brute who wore a sweat stained blue T-shirt. His face had turned ruddy from drinking a while ago. He nudged his friends beside him as Wylde passed. Grinning, he stretched out his jean-clad leg and, in one smooth movement, deftly sent the Metal Maniac sprawling. Wylde grabbed clumsily in an attempt to find purchase and, in doing so, his Drone arm knocked the man's beer from the table, spilling it all over his lap and making him roar with disgust. Wylde lay across the floor, head spinning, utterly bewildered and unsure of how he'd fallen.

"Hey!" yelled the man who had tripped Wylde. "Watch where the hell you're going!"

"Sorry," Wylde grumbled, stumbling to his feet.

But the man wasn't prepared to let it slide. "Get up ye stupid cripple." he snarled. "What the hell are ye even doing in here? We got homes for people like you!"

"You better shut up," Wylde growled at him. "Before I do it for you."

The man laughed and behind him his friends guffawed stupidly as they urged him to take Wylde on.

"Hey!" shouted the bartender at the sweaty man. "That's enough outta you! Now sit back down or I'll kick you and your friends out for a month!"

But the man apparently hadn't heard the bartender, or at least, he paid no attention. Instead, still grinning maliciously, he spat a big wad of phlegm straight into Wylde's face. Without thinking, Wylde swung his enhanced metal Drone arm and caught the man square in his chest. He stumbled back into his table with the force of Wylde's punch, gasping for breath. His three beefy friends stood up and began scrambling out from behind their table, ready to jump on Wylde. Wylde brought his fists up in front of his face, readying himself to beat them back. But before they could leap on him, the bartender, having snatched up a wooden bat from behind the counter, muscled his way in between them all.

"_That's enough!"_ he yelled at the top of his voice, brandishing the bat in the three men's faces. "I've had enough of you four! Gettin' inta fights every other week- get out of my bar!" he roared.

"What?" said one of the men, incredulous. "C'mon, we didn't start-"

"GET OUT!" the bartender screamed, sharply jamming the butt of the bat into his stomach.

The three men began scrambling toward the exit, dragging their still coughing friend behind them.

The bartender turned to Wylde, lowering the bat somewhat, but still gripping it firmly. He looked uneasily down at Wylde's still clenched mechanical fist.

"You better get on yer phone kid," he said, breathing heavily. "And get the hell out of my bar."

Wylde, somewhat more sober after the drive back to the AcceleCube, stepped out of Kurt's car (the stereo of which still had not been replaced since his rescue from Gelorum). On the other side of the vehicle, Kurt climbed out of the driver's seat. Kurt hadn't asked any questions when his wasted brother had called him at one o'clock in the morning for a ride home from the bar, which was just as well, because Wylde hadn't felt like offering any details.

"Thanks," said Wylde gruffly, as Tork, driving his World Race car, parked beside him and got out.

"No problem, Wylde," replied Tork, handing the keys over. "Get some sleep." With one furtive look at Kurt, he left the garage through the door to the dormitories.

Kurt and Wylde stood together in the lofty garage. The silence between them was palpable.

"Look, if you want to talk..." began Kurt uncertainly. It had been so long since the two had been brothers that Kurt had quite forgotten what it was like to be the one that Mark called on for help.

"There's nothing to talk about," interjected Wylde. "I wanted to find some new speakers for my car, but they didn't have any in town so I went to the bar. Some idiot thought my new arm was funny so I taught him a lesson. No big deal," he finished unconvincingly.

There was silence again.

"Mark... please talk to me..." said Kurt so quietly that Wylde barely heard him.

"I'm fine," Wylde insisted, anger creeping into his tone. His eyes were beginning to prickle and he quickly turned away from his brother, looking for something to distract himself. He snatched up a wrench laying on a nearby worktable. He gripped it tightly in his Drone hand. He realized he hated the fact that he couldn't feel its cool metal on his skin. He looked at his car. So shiny and sleek and utterly _undamaged_. He realized he hated it too. He raised the wrench above his head and brought it smashing down upon the hood of the car, denting its pristine surface and scratching the paint job badly. "It's just this stupid car. It's so damned boring," he said, his voice breaking as he smashed the hood again and again almost in rhythm with his words. "It's got no character. I ain't driving it looking like this. It's just too. Fucking. Perfect!"

Wylde smashed his car over and over. He could see Kurt out of the corner of his eye, leaning against the hood of his own car, his face buried in his hands. But Wylde refused to look at him. Wylde beat his car savagely and never once looked at his big brother in the face, because if he looked at his big brother, Kurt might see right into him... if he looked at his big brother, he might see that Wylde was missing more than just his arm... If he looked at his big brother, Kurt might see just how broken he felt.


End file.
